


Souls Between Ages

by therutherfordwife



Series: Souls Between Worlds [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/M, Fluff, Mind Control, Modern AU, NaNoWriMo 2016, PTSD, SO MUCH FLUFF, Terrorism, because it's necessary, but also angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-28 19:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8460286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therutherfordwife/pseuds/therutherfordwife
Summary: When Garrett Hawke was sent to capture a hidden Venatori military base in the Anderfels, he had no idea the horrors he will find within: plans he finds detailing a continent-wide reign of terror that would leave hundreds of thousands dead and the world irrevocably changed. When the Venatori activate the base's self-destruct, Hawke is left with no other proof of the imminent attacks than the only surviving victim of the Venatori's experimentation who refuses to speak of what she knows. Can he convince her to relive the horrors of her past in order to save their future?Ilaria Zavetnya was an athlete on the brink of international fame when an invitation to an exclusive training camp in Tevinter arrives. Instead of swimming, she finds herself enslaved by a militaristic cult and endures months of psychological and physical torture until she no longer can tell reality from fantasy. Now rescued and far away from the horrors she experienced, she is trying to rebuild the shattered remains of her life when the first of the Venatori attacks occurs in Ferelden. Ila finds herself torn between two choices; keep the knowledge secret or reveal the plans and lay bare her own part in their making.





	1. Chapter 1

She couldn’t open her eyes. Not that that was unusual, per se, at least not since the disappearance. Or at least, she thought it must be a disappearance. There wasn’t anybody to come looking for her, really, no one to truly care if she didn’t come home, and anyway she had no way of knowing how long she had been here. It could have been days. It could have been years.

Maker, she prayed it wasn’t just hours.

If it was only hours, that meant her torment was as close to unending as anyone was likely to experience. Anyway, the amount of time she’d spent in the simulator made that unlikely. Months was probably the safest bet. Months since her invitation to that Imperial Training Camp. Months since being dragged, drugged and limp, from the locker room and thrown into the back of that vehicle. Months since the lyrium had been branded on her skin like a chain.

It made her more biddable, they’d said. And she could feel it. There was a terrifying dichotomy in her head now between what she knew she wanted and what she actually did, like she was an observer in her own life. “Do this,” they said, _”No,”_ a voice screamed inside her head. 

And then she’d do it.

It was infuriating. The only time she had actual control of herself was during her physical training. They’d tried at first to control her throughout, but she’d heard the bitter discussions about her and the others. _Results are dramatically reduced without their own will behind their actions. Keep the suggestions in place, but if we want them to be the soldiers we need then they must train as they are used to._

At first, it had been a relief. A word was spoken, and suddenly she could walk where she wished, breathe as she wished, and sing as she wished. But then she’d found the limits; no escaping, nothing even resembling threatening towards their captors. And having those moments of freedom and knowing that at a word they would go back to being the mindless slaves of their captors drove all the trainees near madness.

Ila took a slow breathe. She was on lockdown now because of some perceived threat to the base. They’d been training in the yard, her and the other nine . . . _eight_ teen “lyrium warriors” the Venatori were secretly training in the Anderfels of Tevinter, when the alarms had blared to life. Usually no notice was taken, but this time she and her training partner Elias had been ushered inside before anyone even bothered to reactivate their programming.

Which meant she was ‘awake’ while strapped, immobile, blindfolded, and gagged, in her pod. She tugged slightly at her restraints, testing them for the first time that she could remember. Maybe, if she could just get an arm loose, she could be free of this. Fenris had gotten out. No one knew how, obviously, as he hadn’t bothered to come back and tell them, but he’d proved it was possible.

Muffled explosions interrupted her thoughts. Explosions? In the compound? She pulled more roughly. Far-off _pops!_ of gunfire could be heard and the she could faintly smell smoke coming through the vents. _I’m going to die in here_ , she realized with horror. 

The door opened and two sets of steps frantically entered. “How many are left?” 

“Just these two. They’ve already cleared the rest, but I don’t think they got any alive. These two were at training, so they weren’t put away with the rest of them and if we hurry we can get the pods out the chute and they can be picked up by Samsung. We can’t afford to lose all this work!” Ila felt her pod being rolled somewhere. Should she keep trying to escape? Did they know she was awake? If they knew, would they put her under again?

What did the man mean, the rest were cleared but not taken alive?

 _Fuck it,_ she decided, and she began furiously fighting her restraints. There was an exclamation of surprise from one of the men transporting her and then an angry exchange about putting their safety at risk. “Do you know her activation key?” the first man asked.

“No, but Samson has it and she can’t get out of the pod anyway. Let me grab the other one. Hopefully they remembered to activate him before putting him away. Wait here,” he ordered.

Another explosion sounded, this one much closer than the last. “Shit,” growled the man with Ila. Her pod was jolted slightly, and then they were moving again. “Shit shit shit fucking shit. No such thing as ‘according to plan.”

Gunfire ricocheted around them in angry bursts. Ila couldn’t tell if they were being shot at or the shots were simply nearby, but the man pushing her was keeping up an agitated commentary that she focused on instead of the potential of dying.

“We’re almost there. All they need is one, we’re almost to the chute. You’ll go down, and Samson will pick you up and everything we’ve worked for will be salvaged. Third door . . . here!”

 _No!_ Ila fought with all her might. Whatever was happening, whoever was attacking the base, she was not going to be sent to another place where she was going to have no control over herself. She’d rather die than spend another minute as a mindless captive. With a scream of agony, she threw her weight as hard as she could from side to side.

“Ugh! Fucking -” the man’s words were interrupted by the pod tilting sideways and Ila felt a moment of blind panic as the pod fell with her still trapped inside. It landed facedown with a resounding crash, and shards of glass shattered all around her.

 _Glass,_ adrenaline coursed through her, Glass could cut the straps! Her fingers searched frantically for any shard within reach, and she just managed to wrap her hand around a shard when a deafening explosion threw her, pod and all, tumbling into what was probably a wall. Her hand felt funny, and the glass slipped through her fingers.

Silence.

Footsteps. Quiet, controlled steps, with intention. Though she was having trouble focusing, she recognized steps like that. She’d been training in moving like that for months now.

Military.

“Hey, we got another one here. Intel said there were nineteen, right?”

“Yeah. We found seventeen in the hanger, all dead, and then that idiot Bartrand blew the eighteenth. Think we got the last one?”

The pod was being lifted, rolled so she was face up. She didn’t . . . feel right. Something about that last explosion had done more damage than she could comprehend at the moment. She groaned as the pod was set down again.

“Maker’s ballsack, Seargant, this one’s alive!”

“Then stop fucking pansying around, Phillips, and get her out of there!” The sound of more glass shattering, and then the straps about her arms and legs being cut. Surprisingly gentle hands pulled the gag from her mouth and then the blindfold was tugged off of her head.

A face swam into view, dark hair and the hint of a beard framed around kind brown eyes. “You’re alright, girl, we got you. You’re safe now.” he glanced to the side. “Phillips, call Anders in here, I don’t want her on the move until we get that bleeding under control and make sure there’s no other damage we can’t see. That was a hell of an explosion to live through, you know,” he directed that last at her. “We’ll get you patched up and then you’ll be on your way back to the Free Marches, sound good?”

Ila opened her mouth to respond and promptly burst into tears of relief. _Let this be real,_ she thought desperately, _please let this not be a dream!_

Strong arms lifted her easily from the pod and cradled her while great wracking sobs contorted through her. “That’s alright,” the man murmured. “You go ahead and cry. I’ve got you now, you’re safe. Anders is going to get you taken care of and then I’ll make sure you get home safe, ok?”

 

 

She awoke three days later with a head so fuzzy she was certain it was full of sand. When she groggily tried to sit up, however, a strong but gently hand pushed her back. 

“Not so fast, please, you’ll hurt yourself. Relax. You’re safe now.” 

Ila blearily focused on the face swimming through her vision. Blond hair tied back from a long and earnest face. _I don’t know who this is,_ she realized in shock. Every aspect of her life had been carefully regimented, including the people she’d interacted with. She’d met no one knew in . . . how long had she been in that place?

Where was she now?

“Who -” her voice croaked from disuse. She roughly cleared it and tried again. “Who are you?”

“I’m Anders. I’m part of the Medical Corps working in conjunction with the Free Marches Special Forces.” As he spoke, he pulled shone a flashlight in her eyes and took her pulse. “Can you tell me your name?

“ . . . Ila.”

“Ila. Perfect. Can you say ‘ah’?” She dutifully opened her mouth. “Do you remember anything about where we found you? The base where you were . . . kept?” he finished lamely.

She struggled through the sand in her brain to recall the information he was asking for. “Somewhere in . . . Tevinter?” she said slowly. “In . . . in the mountains.” Thoughts were slow and muddy. “I can’t . . . I can’t focus,” she whimpered.

“You have one hell of a concussion, so that’s to be expected. Not to mention you lost almost half your blood and had to have -” he cut off abruptly. “Well, nevermind that for now. Garrett, perfect timing, as always,” the relief was obvious in his voice. Ila slowly twisted her head to look at the man who had come to stand beside her bed.

“How you doing, Bug?” his voice was light and humorous, and she saw with sudden clarity for the first time since she opened her eyes. Warm, comforting brown eyes, and an easy smile to go with his relaxed posture. Everything about him put her at ease, but nothing more so than his voice.

“You pulled me out,” she gasped, voice suddenly strong. “I remember you. You carried me out.”

"I did. Glad to see you finally awake, little Bug. Had me worried that I’d pulled you out of there only to watch you die.” 

“The others -” her throat closed again. 

“You were the only one we got out.” he confirmed softly. “I’m so sorry, Bug. I wish we could have rescued you all.”

“Better dead than still kept in that . . . _place,_ ” Ila spat. “Better dead than forced to endure those _tortures._ Better dead than living in _hell!”_ her voice rose precariously, her control slipping through the battered walls of her psyche. 

Anders was beside her in an instant. “Ila, relax please. Your body is under too much stress, I need you to calm down so you can heal.”

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BE CALM?” she shrieked, fighting earnestly against the arms pushing her back to the bed. “Let me go, get off, you can’t make me stay here, you can’t keep me here, LET ME GO!”

“Garrett, _hold her!”_ Anders shouted over her din. The soldier, the one who’d rescued her, immediately took Anders’ place holding her down while Anders grabbed something from a nearby table. “I’m so sorry for this,” he murmured as Ila caught sight of something being injected into the IV she hadn’t noticed before.

“No, no, please no I can’t sleep, don’t make me sleep,” she whimpered even as her limbs went heavy and her eyes drooped. “There’s no peace . . . in sleep . . . “ and she was gone.

Garrett and Anders exchanged a worried glance. “Do you think she’ll thank us for saving her?”

“After what she and the others endured?” Garrett stared down at the harrowed face of the girl he’d literally pulled from the fire, heart wrenching in pity. “No. No, I don’t think she will.”

 

 

It was another week before a medical transport helicopter could be sent from the Free Marches. In that time, they were forced to sedate Ila another four times. It wasn’t until she first fell asleep of her own accord that Garrett breathed a sigh of relief.

“You think we can ease off the elfroot tomorrow? I want to see if we can get anything coherent out of her before Meredith sinks her claws into her,” he grumbled.

Anders hesitated. “We can,” he said slowly. “But you should know that if we ease off, she’ll be able to focus the lyrium and she could do some serious damage. Not to mention, she’ll have to face the initial trauma of _that_ ,” he gestured at her right arm. “Between her mental state and the drugs, I don’t think she’s realized yet.”

Garrett glanced at the remains of her arm, severed just below the elbow. “And why exactly is that _my_ job?”

“Because you’re the only person she listens to consistently without turning into a shrieking ball of crazy,” Anders deadpanned. “Plus, you’re the only person around who knows how to handle a lyrium-fighter.” He turned away coldly.

“Anders,” Garrett started.

Anders cut him off. “Don’t do that, Hawke, please? I have enough to worry about without dealing with your emotional baggage. Besides,” he turned back to Ila. “She’s going to need you far more than any of the rest of us ever did.”

 

 

“I can do it!” Ila insisted for what felt like the millionth time, waving Garrett away. Carefully, oh so carefully, she maneuvered her left hand under her back and carefully, very carefully, pushed.

Every part of her ached. Anders was a wonder in the med tent, but there was only so much he could do out here in the middle of nowhere. Ila focused on the muscles of her arm, forcing them not to give out despite the sweat pouring down her back and the tremor that threatened to end this whole experiment. _Push, damn it!_

With a breathless whoosh of air, her arm straightened beneath her and she found herself upright for the first time in days. Exultant laughter burst from her lips before being cut off by a groan as she flopped back down in exhaustion. “Why is this so damn _hard_ ,” she panted.

“Hmm, let me think about that for a moment . . . it’s almost like you’ve endured a trauma,” Garrett said sarcastically. Ila threw him a glare. “None of that now, Bug. You’re not actually indestructible, despite the evidence to the contrary.” He gently smoothed her sweat-soaked hair off of her forehead.

“Why do you call me that?”

“What, Bug?” Ila nodded. “Because of how I found you. All I could think of when I saw that damn thing was that they’d wrapped you up in a steel cocoon.” She tensed under his hand, but he gripped her shoulder to steady her. “You’re not there anymore, Ila. Don’t let what’s done drag you back to a place you don’t want to be.”

“Easy for you to say,” she grunted even as she forced herself to relax. “When does the helicopter get here?”

Garrett glanced at his watch. “Another 45 minutes.”

“It’s coming so _slow._ ” 

“You only asked about it two minutes ago!”

She fixed her eyes on Garrett’s, holding onto his gaze like she wanted to burn it’s memory into her heart. “I just want to go home,” she whispered.

 

 

Phillips helped Anders load her into the helicopter. Normally, they would have strapped her in tightly so she wouldn’t be jostled during the ride, but when they’d attempted to put the straps on she’d started screaming and fighting with all her might, even going so far as to pull the IV out when Anders went to sedate her. Finally, it was agreed that they would leave her unstrapped so long as she agreed to keep the IV in.

Ila reluctantly agreed.

As the helicopter lifted precariously into the air, Anders watched it go with a sense of dread. “How much freedom do you think they’ll give her when she gets home?”

“After what happened to the families? About as much freedom as a dog, probably. You remember what they did to Fenris,” Garrett growled, stepping out of the shadows. He hadn’t wanted to say goodbye; everyone he said goodbye to died. It was a stupid superstition, he knew, but he wasn’t about to risk it.

“So what’re you going to tell Meredith?”

Garrett sighed. They’d only just gotten clear of the base when someone inside hit a kill switch. The whole side of the mountain had gone up, the base decimated by bombs and debris. What little they’d managed to dig out was useless, and even the terminals they’d reached had been wiped clean and were utterly trashed.

The whole operation was a bust.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Anders frowned. “Garrett, you know you have to tell her. If she finds out that Ila has information, she’ll have you court martialed at the very least. Or worse.”

He knew that. He could feel Anders’ gaze flick to his forehead, imagining the brand Meredith would call to be placed there. “So far as Meredith knows, Ila is just a puppet with her strings cut. So long as she’s never in the room with her when she goes ballistic, which won’t happen in the Gallows because they’ll keep her sedated, she’ll be fine.” He tried to ignore the clenching in his gut at the thought of them keeping her sedated. Maker’s balls, her life was hell enough without being trapped in those nightmares.

Garrett stared at the horizon until long after the helicopter had disappeared. “Maker watch over her,” he prayed to the god he hadn’t believed in for many years.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Transitions of life and circumstance.

Ila’s palm slamming into her alarm clock nearly shattered the infuriating thing, and she groaned pitifully while she rolled over and pulled the covers back over her head. It was too damn early for sane people to be getting out of bed.

She’d just managed to pass the threshold back into sleep when her door flew open with a bang and a heavy body flounced beside her on the bed. “Ila.” A hand shook her shoulder. “Ila, get up. I know you’re awake.”

“Fuck off,” came her muffled reply.

“Can’t. Sebastian went home two weeks ago.” Ila could hear the smirk in his voice and she lifted her eyes to peek out from under the covers. 

“You and Sebastian never fucked,” she yawned, sitting up and flicking on the lamp next to her bed. “Unless there’s something you’d like to tell me?”

Kirill was wrapped in a giant and particularly fluffy red bathrobe the same shade as his hair and beard with a wicked smile on his face. “Unfortunately, no. Now, are you going to get ready for therapy or am I going to have to drag you ass to the center myself?”

Ila shoved him off her bed and made her way to the bathroom. “Gimme twenty and I’ll be good.”

“Ila.” She ignored him, turning on the water and testing the temperature. “Ila, where is your shrinker?”

“Hiding,” she said shortly. She heard a small sigh but otherwise Kirill didn’t say anything. 

Her shower was slow, as usual. She argued with her hair, as usual. Lost her balance at least once, as usual. Got out and pulled her robe on, as usual. Argued with her hair again, as usual, until Kirill stepped in and deftly twisted the wet locks into a loose braid.

Ila stared into the mirror, Kirill behind her looking over her shoulder. “You do more every day,” he whispered.

“It’s been months, Kirill,” she responded dully. “I don’t want to do _more,_ I just want to be _normal.”_

“I know.”

He did, somehow. It never ceased to amaze her how well they fit together, as if they were meant to be despite their lack of romance. They were family. He was the only family she’d ever had. They’d both gone to the University of Orlais and met at an athlete’s benefit where they’d been seated together based on their shared origins in Ostwick. Not that they’d had anything remotely resembling a similar growing up experience; his father was a business mogul, and she’d grown up basically on the streets until high school. They’d hardly spoken at first; not until Ila muttered a “that’s what she said” under her breath and he’d promptly laughed so loud half the room had turned to look.

They’d been inseparable ever since.

He’d been waiting for her when the helicopter landed in Kirkwall, and she’d caught sight of him at the landing pad long before anyone else was identifiable since he wore his customary all-red ensemble. Considering the way the FMSF seemed to have every intention on not letting her out of their sight, the fact that he had managed to gain access meant three things:

First, that he must have already had access to the FMSF in order to know she’d been found, and two . . .

He’d have had to reconcile with his father to gain that access.

Third. He’d only have done that if he knew it was the only way to find her. Which meant he’d been trying to find her.

Thirteen months. Thirteen months she’d been gone, over a year where she’d disappeared without a trace, and yet here he was waiting for her when she returned. The helicopter had barely touched ground when she shoved all thought of pain or consequences from her mind, ripped the IV from her arm and bolted from her cot, practically falling from the machine as the soldiers collectively panicked at her escape and struggled to unstrap themselves before she hurt herself.

They needn’t have worried, she would have told them. Kirill would never let her fall.

His strong arms had wrapped around her before her feet had even touched the ground, sweeping her up and crushing her to him as if he was trying to ensure she’d never be lost again. It was then that the weeping had started, great wracking sobs that threatened to drown her. With Kirill here, she was _home_. She was safe, she was home and she was safe and she was with Kirill and everything would be ok now.

Ila sighed. That had been almost five months ago. Kirill had informed the men escorting her that she would not, in fact, be undergoing treatment at the Gallows, but would be expertly seen to in a private facility within the city. Ila hadn’t bothered with paying attention to the argument that ensued; she just focused on keeping herself in the here and now, not succumbing to the memories of what she’d been through. In the end, Kirill had won, and had carried her cradled to his chest all the way to the ambulance himself.

 

 

Kirill watched Ila’s face in the mirror. He could tell from the empty look in her eyes that she was Remembering again, thinking of things that he’d give anything to have kept her from. Maker help him, sometimes he just didn’t know what to _do_. 

When she’d disappeared, he’d been beside himself. He’d _known_ , even when months had passed with no information, that she was alive. Somewhere. He’d done everything he could on his own, pulled every favor he was owed and every connection he’d made at the university for some kind, _any_ kind of aid.

It hadn’t been enough.

He just hadn’t been _established_ yet. There had only been one thing to do, then;

He called his father.

The man had wasted no time bringing Kirill back into the fold of the business. No doubt he’d had everything prepared from the moment Kirill left, had known that something would force Kirill to come back. He’d almost made it, almost left this life behind for good . . .

He focused on Ila. His best friend, his sister, the only family that meant anything to him. _She is worth it,_ he thought again. _She will_ always _be worth it_.

_She finally is starting to look healthy again,_ he observed. Her dark curls were finally beginning to spill down her back; he’d been horrified to see the beautiful long hair she’d taken such care of cut to her shoulders. When she’d burst from the helicopter, he’d been struck by how frail she appeared. Physically, she seemed fit enough. Her injuries were obviously extensive, but she bore them well enough. The remnants of her right arm had been a shock, but he knew she would overcome the challenges with as much determination as she’d faced anything else in her life.

It had been the way she’d looked at him, even as she fell out of the helicopter into his arms, that had truly wrenched his heart. She was _shattered._ Never before had he seen the indomitable woman so torn open for the world to see. She’d faced so much struggle in her life, overcome so much and climbed so far . . . 

To have someone reach in and rip apart her sense of self and ability was the worst thing they could have done to her.

Maker help the ones responsible, because if he ever laid hands on them, they’d wish they’d never been born.

Her warm blue eyes suddenly snapped to his in the mirror. “Did you find my shrinker?” she asked softly.

“You hid it in your panty drawer again. You do realize that your underwear doesn’t intimidate me, right?” Ila just grinned. “Hold your arm out, let’s get this out so we can go. Or do you not want to get your prosthetic today?”

She sighed but dutifully held out her right arm so he could pull the shrinker over the limb. “Do you need help getting dressed?”

Ila shook her head. “I’m wearing a sports bra, sundress, and slip-on shoes. No assistance necessary.” She reached over her shoulder and patted his cheek. “I’ve been doing this for five months, Kirill. I’ve got this.”

He caught her hand and pressed it gently into his cheek before releasing it, knowing how much the lyrium ached when touched. Not that she would admit it. Whatever training they’d done on that mountain, her ability to ignore pain was downright disturbing. “I know you do,” he smiled. “I’ll go start the car.”

 

 

The fitting goes exceptionally well. The prosthetic that she walks away is simple, and slips over the end of her forearm easily and comfortably. When they are done she uses the rigid hand to open all of the doors on their way to the exit, giggling at Kirill’s indulgent sigh of amusement. It’s not perfect, of course, and it won’t entirely make up for the loss of motor function that comes from not having a hand or wrist, but she hardly cares.

It’s _something._

They’re heading to the car when Kirill’s phone rings. The Imperial March heralds his father, and Ila winces at the disgust on Kirill’s face as he answers it and hates the fake-happy tone he addresses his father with. There is a few minutes of tense arguing before Kirill hangs up and pounds a fist on the roof of the car.

“You’re going to break a hole in that one day, you know,” she says lightly. He just glares at her. “Don’t give me that look, I’m hysterical and you know it. What was that about?”

“He wants me to attend a Summit of some sort in Ferelden through the weekend. Apparently, the jet is already waiting at the airport. I need to go, _now_.”

She could practically feel his rage boiling. “Kirill, it’s only a few days. Whatever it is, it must be important or else he wouldn’t have asked for you to go personally.”

“I know!” he growled, looking for all the world like an angry red bear the way his beard bristled. “But you need a ride home, so if you want me to make it to my plane, get in the car.”

Ila crossed her arms, marveling a bit at how the prosthesis felt tucked under her left arm and fleetingly wondering how long it’d been since she’d actually done this action. “I’ll get a ride from Cullen. I know you don’t want to go and I know you’re worried about me, but don’t use me as an excuse.” Her glare softened a smidge. “Take a deep breathe, Kirill.”

He did as she said, breathing in deeply through his nose, holding it, and then exhaling slowly from his mouth. The tension didn’t leave entirely but he did relax somewhat. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Did you see where Cullen parked this time?” Without hesitation she pointed to the far corner of the parking lot. “Alright. Have him take you straight home, give him directions and not the address. Stop a few blocks away and lose him at the mall, ok? I don’t feel like having the SF stalking our flat the way they stalk your appointments. If he starts taking you anywhere that’s not where you direct him, get out. Promise?”

“Promise.”

He walked around the car and pulled her into a quick but firm hug. “And whatever you do, don’t answer any of his questions. I’ll be back Sunday night, ok?”

“Ok. I’ll have pasta and garlic bread ready. It alright if I invite Marian over?”

“Yeah, of course. You live there too, Ila, you don’t need permission to have friends over.” 

“I know, it’s just -”

“I know.” He glanced at his phone. “Ok, I have to run or Father will be furious. Got your purse?”

“Right here.” She waved the item at him and started heading towards where Cullen was parked.. “Alright. Call me if anything happens. Oh, and Ila?”

She turned in time to catch an oblong box thing that he threw at her. It was light, but she nearly dropped it in surprise. It was wrapped up like a present, bow and everything. “Kirill, what -”

He threw her a wink just as he ducked into the car and left without another word. “Bastard,” she grumbled happily.

Cullen climbed out of his car as she approached. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Zavetnya?” he asked, trying to act as if this wasn’t already a huge breach in tradition. Usually, the SF sent someone to try to contact her at her known places of public appearance. Usually, it was Cullen, and usually, she ignored him. After the first few times of being completely and utterly brushed aside, he’d taken to merely making his presence known but he hadn’t tried to confront her since Kirill had decked him on their way into her sixth appointment.

“I need a ride home.”

Cullen was taken aback. “A ride home? I don’t - that is, I’m not certain -”

“I’m sure Meredith will be thrilled to hear about you passing up the opportunity to interrogate me thoroughly while I’m stuck in a car with you for a half hour, Cullen. Unless you rather I walk all the way home? Through Darktown?”

He swallowed thickly. “No, of course. Climb in.”

 

 

The car ride was simple. Cullen was surprisingly cooperative, and she didn’t even have to worry about him stalking her to her house from the mall when an urgent call from Meredith came in just as she climbed out. She’d barely shut the door when he sped off.

Her afternoon was quiet. She spent most of the time wandering the apartment doing everything she could think that she could use her prosthesis for. She’d gotten used to not having a forearm fairly quickly (thought thank the Maker she was left-handed, she’d said repeatedly), but there was still a sense of relief that some things were possible again. And for no discernible reason she could explain, simply having an ‘arm’ helped her phantom sensations.

She was halfway through her first attempt at cutting a tomato when there was a knock at the door. For a split second she froze, unsure of what to do and uncomfortable answering the door and dealing with some stranger who’d no doubt stare at her arm, but she shook the feeling off. _Nobody cares,_ she reminded herself. So she braced herself and pulled open the door.

Her jaw hit the floor. “Garrett?”

The grim-faced soldier, the man who’d literally pulled her from the fire and carried her to safety and then stayed by her side through her initial recovery only to disappear the day she left, stood grimly on her doorstep in his army fatigues. 

“Hey, Ila. Can I come in?”

“Of course?” Of course, like this was the most natural conversation in the world, like they were actually friends and not like he’d been there for the worst few days of her life. “How did you know where I lived?”

“Marian told me,” he said shortly, then sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, it’s been a long day. I just got flown in from Weisshaupt this morning, I was supposed to be on leave for a month but they just cancelled it.”

“No, you’re fine, go ahead and take a seat. That couch is the literal comfiest thing I’ve ever sat on and I swear Kirill found it in a freaking thrift store and I’ve never been sure if that is impressive or kinda gross?” This had to be the most awkward moment of her life. The whole moment was surreal; here they were, talking like normal people do, having normal people conversation when the last time she’d seen him she hadn’t been a raging ball of insanity.

Not to mention a little bit in love with him.

That was the fairy tale, though, right? Handsome man (which he _definitely_ was) rescues the lady from a life-or-death situation, they’re separated by life but find each other through all their trials and live happily ever after. How many times had she imagined him showing up at her door like this?

“Thanks, but I . . . don’t think that’s a good idea.” He stood solidly in the kitchen, watching Ila as she finished slowly cutting her tomato. “There’s been a . . . a situation that we could use your help with.”

Ila froze. “No.” No. No no no no _no_. She was not going to start this again; endless rounds of _What do you remember?_ and _What can you tell us?_ and _Did you ever meet so-and-so?_ Thirteen months in the heart of one of the most insidious terrorist organizations in the world and all she wanted was some Maker-forsaken peace and quiet!

“Ila, please,” Garrett pleaded, and she hated herself for the way his pleas pulled at her heartstrings. “There was an attack a half hour ago in Ferelden. The Divine’s Summit to discuss the mage rights violations was -” he cut off, steadying himself for a moment. “There’s nothing left, Ila.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as memories flurried unbidden through her mind. _Intelligence notes that a Summit is unavoidable. Neutral ground dictates that should summit occur, the Frostback Mountains of Ferelden will be the most likely host. Once the Divine is confirmed on-site, the attack will commence and targets will be eliminated with alacrity. Total collateral casualties expected._ “I can’t -” her voice choked. “I _can’t_ ,” she whispered brokenly.

Garrett was beside her in an instant, arms wrapped around her. “I’m so sorry, Ila. I just had to ask, one more time.”

“I know,” she gasped as the tears slid down her cheeks. “Are you going to go, then? To Ferelden?” The thought terrified her more than it should have, if she was honest.

He nodded. “I’m heading straight to base from here and we fly out as soon as we’re loaded.”

“Do I get a goodbye this time?”

He snorted. “I don’t do the whole ‘goodbye’ thing. It always feels too much like we’ll never see each other again,” he explained.

“You’d avoid a goodbye on the basis that it increases our chances of seeing each other?”

“Exactly!” Shit, did that mean he _wanted_ to see her again? She could feel his grin where his cheek was pressed against her head. His embrace was so nice, so different from Kirill’s -

_Kirill_

She flew from Garrett’s arms, frantically darting to her room and grabbing her cellphone. Kirill always complained that she never kept it on her, and for once she understood his irritation completely. Fumbling the tiny device with one hand, she hit Kirill’s speed dial and waited, anxiety building with every second.

_We’re sorry, your call did not go through. Please dial again or leave a message after the tone._

Kirill _always_ answered. He was anal with his cellphone, it was always charged and he made sure that anyone could get a hold of him at any time. Never, not once in her whole life since they’d met, had she ever heard or seen it go straight to voicemail.

The already leaking tears rapidly turned to a flood and she wailed because she _knew_. Kirill had gone to the Summit. She hadn’t realized until Garrett mentioned the Divine, hadn’t put everything together until she remembered their goodbye just that morning.

The Venatori had attacked the Summit. She’d known it would happen, had chosen to ignore her knowledge and ignore the movings of the world that would bring about this moment.

Now Kirill was dead.

Abruptly she stood. Garrett had followed to her bedroom, watched in horror as she collapsed to her knees and wailed, and now he stood unsure in her doorway. She breathed in. She breathed out.

She met Garrett’s eyes without any hesitation, without a trace of the broken woman he’d seen just moments before. For the first time in five months, her tattoos glowed brilliant blue against her skin as if sealing the cracks in her person. She couldn’t do what she needed to do if she was trying to be just _Ila._ No, in order to do what was necessary, she needed to find the hidden remnants of a person she’d sworn never to be again.

_Subject Eleven._

She brushed past Garrett, not bothering to take any of her things except the gift Kirill had left for her. _It’s like he knew,_ she thought grimly. “Take me to Ferelden.”


End file.
